


Give Me Shelter

by caffeinatedmusing



Series: The Care and Feeding of Vampires [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, M/M, blood and wine dlc, contracts gone wrong, social anxiety of the vampire variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: Regis shows up on Geralts doorstep, seeking solace after a rough night only to find the witchers night wasn't much better, if for very different reasons. Nights like that, its important to have friends who don't flinch from the messier aspects of your life. Even more so when that friend is also your lover.





	Give Me Shelter

The storm now whipping leaves and rain directly against the side of the house had been building since noon. All of Toussaint seemed to have been holding its breath beneath the heat faded sky, waiting as the humidity rose to suffocating levels, the trees turned up their leaves, and the clouds grew heavier by the hour. It’d broken in torrents just as Geralt had reached the road that led up to the house; ample time for him to be drenched.

The reek rising from the heap of wet clothes on the floor next to the tub was only slightly stronger than what stuck to his hair and skin. Thankfully, the house was empty; BB and Marlene had both gone with the vineyard’s supervisor to Beauclair to purchase supplies. 

He had just lowered himself to soak and was hoping that a shot or five of vodka might clear his nose afterward when a thudding knock rattled the front door. Geralt scowled. _What now?_

Towel secured around his waist, he stalked barefoot and dripping, checking that his blades were in reach, just in case, and slid the bolt free. He yanked open the door to a gust of rain-drenched air and a sharp crack of thunder. The flash of lightning revealed a soaked, familiar form huddled on his unprotected doorstep.

“Regis! What are you doing here? Come in.” Geralt pulled his friend in out of the storm and pushed against the wind to re-secured the door. 

Something about the vampire’s posture suggested a chill. Which was impossible; vampiric range of tolerance for extreme temperatures meant nothing so natural as severe weather could bother him. But bothered he seemed.

“Forgive me,” Regis stood dripping on the nice front hall rug as Geralt fetched him a spare towel. He glanced at Geralt’s towel wrapped form. “Am I intruding? I was in town and... What is that smell?”

Geralt sniffed at his arm again and cursed.

“Devourers.” He groaned, “It won't go away! I'm having a shit night.”

Regis' brows rose as he set his satchel down and set to drying his hair before draping the towel around his neck. “Is this an oil based offal, such as a skunk might spray? Or a sort of toxin?”

“They explode. A self-destruct tactic. Guts, cadaverine …. So, oil based, yeah.”

“Hmmm. I’m afraid soap will only do so much.”

“I've noticed. Any helpful suggestions, or did you just come to gawk? Not a complaint; you're always welcome here, but did I miss a letter or…a.. ah, a bird? I didn’t think you’d be back this soon.”

He helped Regis with the wet gambeson and boots and set about finding places to hang things up to dry.

“No. I did not know I would be here and so I could not have sent notice in advance.” Regis sighed and hung his head to stare at a spot of carpet somewhere just between their feet. “I seem to be having a shit night as well.” 

Geralt picked up on the body language; that and the swearing. Something was definitely bothering him. After a moment, it seemed to pass and he looked Geralt in the eyes again.

“Go and fill the tub again. I may have an idea.”

Geralt went to work on that as the vampire disappeared into the kitchen.

“Vinegar?” He wrinkled his nose when he saw the jug that Regis had retrieved.

“Precisely. To counteract the oils.”

Once Geralt was back reclining in the hot water, he allowed the vampire to pour the acidic liquid over his head, working it through his hair with preternaturally strong fingers.

“Are these archespore thorns?” Regis prodded at several irritated wounds on Geralt’s back and shoulders.

“From this morning. They got into the seams of my armor. Would’ve been fine except I fought a shaelmar later and got tossed. Must have dug them in deeper when I rolled.”

“And your hair?” Regis pointedly tugged an unevenly shorn section.

“Had dried necrophage bits stuck in it…”

“My, you do take looking after, don’t you? Is that true of all witchers, or just you? Hold on a moment.”

The vampire sighed and left, pretending not to see that face Geralt made at him. When he returned he had retrieved his medical toolkit, the scissors Geralt had abandoned, and the most welcome sight; a familiar dark bottle. 

“A proper distillate this time.” The vampire presented the cordial.

They sipped as Regis took tweezers to the thorns and evened out Geralt’s hair as best he could. While he worked, Geralt soaked in the vinegar bath and explained the contracts he’d cleared that day, how each one should have been straight forward but had come with some strange unforeseen complication; finding himself in a shaelmar lair by mistake, then losing some perfectly good bait to a creature he hadn’t even been tracking so that the monster the bait had been meant to lure got away, all while the weather was making Roach restless. He ended with the devourers, which he’d run into by chance while attempting a shortcut home to try and beat the storm.

“…And that devourer set off the others and I couldn’t dodge all of them. I got splattered.”

The vampire shook his head, chuckling.

“I’m glad you find it so amusing. Next ones I run across, I’ll send your way to see how you fare.”

“I can simply turn into a fog to avoid them.”

“Stench like this would stick anyway.”

Rain continued to lash against the sides of the house. Indoors, the sound was muffled. Corvo Bianco’s largely windowless construction made it a veritable fortress against foul weather. Only the small clerestory windows showed the wild flickering of lightning without. 

They drank for a while in silence after the laughter died down.

“You didn’t come all the way out here to help me scrub guts out of my hair. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“No, but I was in want of distraction and you have provided that. Bad smells notwithstanding.”

“Well, thanks to you it’s closer to ‘pickle brine’ now.” Geralt sniffed at his arm again. _Tolerable_. He was ready for a final rinse. 

Regis didn’t laugh that time and turning to get a better look at him, Geralt could see that he was tired; his mouth drawn. 

When he caught Geralt looking at him, he attempted a weak smile, but it didn’t get anywhere near his eyes.

“I’ve told you about my shit night. Turnabout is fair play.” The witcher reached for the cordial and refilled both glasses. “What’s yours?”

Regis sat holding the glass and not saying anything for some time, increasing Geralt’s perception that something was wrong. The witcher set to lathering soap all over, giving Regis time.

“I drank tonight.” He spoke bluntly, setting the glass of cordial down and rubbing his hands up over his eyes.

“After I dropped off the pups, who settled right in and chewed up all of Dettlaff’s things by the way, I was deciding on where to go next. He is doing better now, but it would not have helped either of us had I stayed. So I returned at Orianna’s invitation.” 

“It’s a holiday for us, you know, and she’s hosting quite the lavish affair this year. I wasn’t going to attend; I haven’t, not for ages. But, somehow, she talked me into it. I’ve not been around that many of my own kind in…people I hadn’t seen, some of them for centuries.” He shook his head, dismissing the tangential memories he’d been heading off on.

“It’s the sort of holiday with a lot of food and, er, _drinking_ , and toasting. In a moment of weakness, I …I wanted nothing more in that moment than to binge my way through the entire night and make an utter disaster of it all. The only way to stop myself was to leave. I made some excuse about needing some air; truly laughable among a people who don’t require breath, mind you, and I just started walking. I ended up here.”

“Hm” Geralt refrained from answering right away as he doused the last rinse water, long gone cold, over his head and dried off. The news was troubling, but not unexpected. _Guilt_. That’s what he’d seen in Regis’ posture. Once the linen pants he slept in were tied securely, he faced his friend. 

“A long walk.”

“Yes. Well, I may have… flown some of the way. It’s much faster, even with the way the wind was coming up.”

“How are you now?”

“I could do with some dry clothes, now that you mention it. If it’s not too much trouble?” The vampire avoided the real question.

“Never is. Stay here tonight? Storm looks to be lasting.” A long retort of thunder echoed around the house in emphasis.

Regis trailed him to the bedroom, peeling away the rest of his rain dampened things, where a spare pair of pajamas were offered. 

“I can take the guest room.”

 _“Regis.”_

“I don’t entirely trust myself at present, Geralt.” Regis was staring at the floor again. “…I am…struggling.”

A crack of thunder rolled out into a long barrage of sound that echoed off the surrounding foothills and shook the house.

“I know." Geralt held back the blankets and waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Regis relented and settled in next to him. He blew out the light.

****

****

“Please, enlighten me as to what you think you know?”

“I think anyone who’d been through what you have would be.”

“What have I been through?” Regis snapped, “It is a personal weakness, a lapse in judgement. Please don’t pity me for it, Geralt. A day may come when I am a danger to you and pity might get you killed. I couldn’t bear it. I do not want pity in any case.” 

The vampire huffed out a frustrated sigh. Geralt felt the bed shift as Regis turned toward him in the dark. He didn’t need to see the scowl on Regis’ face; he could feel that, too.

“…I am sorry.” Regis apologized a moment later. “But you don’t know what I can be like when I’ve lost all control. If I ever hurt you or anyone else I care for…”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Regis, you _died_. Or near enough. You spent all that time and energy, even with Dettlaff’s help, to heal. And that was just the physical. From what I’ve seen, hell, from what I’ve been through myself, the mental and the emotional can take a lot longer.” 

“Add to it what you put yourself through at Tesham Mutna? Then, we nearly ended up fighting a very short and very bloody war. None of which promotes healing or your continued recovery. And this bond you have with Dettlaff? Well, he’s been through all kinds of stress and misery of late too, hasn’t he? If you could get a read on him well enough to know he was in trouble and follow him here, then what’s the chance you’ve been picking up on the rest of it? Wanting to get drunk after all that seems like a pretty fucking normal urge to me.”

It was the most Regis had heard Geralt say on any subject in quite a while. So, he knew how important it had to be to make it worth saying. How important _he_ was. And that bit about his blood bond with Dettlaff… _Perceptive_. As always.

“Normal? Yes. Allowable, in my case? No. I haven’t had a serious relapse in the time you have known me. A few minor, er,..slip -ups, here and there. But time does not mean the same for us. All that aside, it is weakness; I am in a weakened state. I chose a familiar vice because it was easy. I _know_ better but I may not be strong enough to _choose_ better.”

“You also said you didn’t trust yourself right now. I think that’s right, in part. The part you can’t trust is the part that’s trying to convince you it’s weakness. Or would you tell a patient who came to you with similar issues that they were weak? That they just needed to try harder?”

“…No. Of course, I wouldn’t. But it’s not the same for a human.” 

“I don’t know about that.” The witcher’s tone was resigned. He couldn’t argue the finer points between species and he knew it, even if he suspected Regis was putting the cart before the horse. “Did something about this party make it worse?”

“Perhaps. I may have mentioned that I… don’t quite belong.”

“Around other vampires?”

“Some of them, yes. There were others abstaining so I was not alone in that. But they don’t consider humans worth befriending nor even noticing; they don’t think much of me for choosing to associate. And…there are rumors regarding, well, you. It was a mistake for me to go in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

“Oh, Orianna has gotten it into her head that I don’t socialize enough. She thought she was doing me a favor.”

“Hm.” Geralt kept his thoughts to himself. Tonight was not the time to tell Regis what he had learned about the orphanage she ‘sponsored’. He hadn’t decided what he should do about that just yet. 

“You may be onto something with that bit about Dettlaff’s stress.” Regis acknowledged, continuing, “This is the first blood bond I’ve experienced; I am still learning. I will have to research it. In any case, that was my shit night.”

They lay together in the dark for a bit. The sounds of the storm; wind whipped rain against the walls, a few rocks and debris sliding loose to rattle against the foundations, filled the lull between peals of thunder. Geralt wondered if the cellar would flood. He knew he should worry about things like that now that he owned this place, but all things considered, it seemed very unimportant.

“After all that, you decided to come to _a witcher’s house_ to relax? Won’t exactly get them to stop talking.” 

Regis chuckled. Any other vampire would think he had lost his mind. He knew Orianna certainly did.

“Yes. Your company is preferable tonight. Most nights, truth be told. Even in my dubious state. I suppose it’s just as well you don’t smell very appetizing right now. I can safely say I don’t want any part of you in my mouth.” He froze as he realized how that sounded.

A soft snort of laughter was his only answer before the witcher’s gravelly voice murmured, “What, you don’t like.. _pickle brine_?”

Regis hardly had time to groan over the witchers terrible innuendo before Geralt was over him, trailing his way down with calloused hands, rough, suctioning kisses and light teasing bites. 

_So, they were doing this again._

Ever since that night on the riverbank, any prolonged amount of time they spent together seemed to lead to sex. Not that Regis was complaining. Except, he hadn’t told Geralt how he felt. They hadn’t defined what they were to each other now, beyond the physical. _What witcher would understand what it meant to be a pack member to a vampire?_

They made short work of the ties and buttons on the loaned pajamas. It wasn’t long before Regis was arched back, knuckle jammed into his mouth to keep from crying out, the hot slick of Geralt’s tongue driving him to distraction. His free hand tangled in Geralt’s hair, tugging and gripping.

When the witcher worked his way back up, he pulled Regis’ hand away from his mouth.

“What’s that for?’ 

Regis had trouble answering; partly because of Geralts mouth continuing to distract; sucking his fingers, kissing and nuzzling at his throat, but mostly because of Geralts other hand, which had taken over the stroking his tongue had left off.

“…It would be…quite…unfortunate…to bring…your…household down on us…at the moment.”

The witcher’s head raised up, a wicked sort of smile playing at his lips and glinting in his eyes. He leaned in close enough for Regis to pick up on his own scent.

“Regis…House is empty. No one here tonight but us.” 

_He’d thought the place felt quieter than usual…_

Soon not even the rain pounding down, the wind rushing out to the horizon, or the thunder rumbling around the house could drown out his shouts of ecstasy. His hands repaid the favor, turnabout being fair play and all that. 

“That improve you night any?” Familiar gravel voice low and warm in the darkness.

“Mm. _Exponentially._ ” Regis sighed and stretched; Geralt’s bed was so much more comfortable than his thin cot in the mausoleum.

“Want to stay tomorrow and work on some alchemy? We uncovered an incredible setup down in the cellars.”

_I love you._

“I’d love to.”

Regis lay drifting in the euphoria afterward, feeling very nearly drunk. The tingle of the witchers touch still fading from his skin and already thinking ahead to the next time, anticipating, he wondered if he hadn’t found a new addiction entirely. 

And whether or not it might prove more or less dangerous for the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for the friends to lovers trope, in case that wasn't obvious. 
> 
> I wanted to touch on Regis' struggle with sobriety for a bit. Because the game sets up the highly probable relapse. Being involved with a witcher would add extra complication to any potential contract if things got bad enough...No I am not foreshadowing in the notes....or am I.
> 
> Take care, and as always, thanks for reading.


End file.
